


Virtual reality

by Unicorn_alien_staccato



Series: Spontaneous [7]
Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: And attempt to write a strange/supernatural type of environment, Angst, Character Study, Dreams, Gen, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mostly just trying to get a feel for post-rebellion Madoka, Post-Rebellion Story, aka I attempt to get a feel for writing acid trip, literally the more I write the less I know how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29467308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unicorn_alien_staccato/pseuds/Unicorn_alien_staccato
Summary: Kaname Madoka has never, never known Akemi Homura. And yet every time she laid eyes on the black-haired beauty, Madoka would feel a painful, immeasurable sense of loss. Almost as if she was mourning the loss of something.
Relationships: Akemi Homura & Kaname Madoka
Series: Spontaneous [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787074
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Virtual reality

Sometimes, when she looked at Akemi Homura, Madoka felt as if she’d seen her before somewhere. As if phantom memories had suddenly come out of hiding within her subconscious after Madoka first met her. Memories that were never clear, never coherent or understandable. Much like the slowly fading memories of America as they were (strangely) quickly replaced by ones she made in Japan. 

It was strange sometimes, how familiar it felt waking up in that new (old) pink room. To be able to peer out from large windows and stare out at the calming scenery. To see her father working in the garden outside. Yet what was most strange was how familiar it felt to wake from the countless strange and incoherent dreams she always barely remembered. Within the dreams it was as if she had everything at her intangible fingertips, so close yet so far. (Yet never touching) Madoka would see the cosmos, see the miasma that built up in fragile jewels-waiting to hatch. She would wait. She—

(The sound of a sharp clap rung in her ears)

She would wake up to ordinary walls, and a hazy cloud in her mind.

One morning, she woke clutching at her chest, imaginary pains shocking her; it felt a bit like being ripped apart. As her eyes snapped open, harsh gold irises faded into soft pink once more. And she would go about her day twisting her (too) short hair, wondering why she’d imagined something lighter in colour.

Another morning, Madoka woke up reaching for someone who only kept going further and further away. Within the confines of her mind, Madoka could only see but never hold or keep anything. 

In one dream, pretty braids bouncing became flowing long strands of black silk. Angelic wings became distorted, twisting in on themselves, dyed with a cacophony of erratic ever-changing colours. They were masses of writhing misty strands, reaching out for the light they once had. Slowly, those colours changed, becoming a bleached bone white or an ink black. They changed, and formed into two giant wings, with each feather hanging limp like a noose. The most striking part of that dream (which she never remembered), was how the soft glittering amethysts of someone’s eyes hardened and hollowed into empty stones-devoid of joy or sadness or care. Within those eyes was only fatigue and apathy.

Once more, with a resounding clap of someone’s hands, she would wake up and forget. 

* * *

Madoka wondered why she always wore those red ribbons Homura (Akemi-san, she was Akemi-san) had given her in their first meeting. There was something about them that made her feel like she should be wearing these instead of her old (new) yellow ones.

Maybe red just fitted her more?

* * *

Madoka stared at her sometimes. At the beautiful black haired enigma that sat in the back of the classroom. Akemi Homura, resident class beauty and all-round perfect student. Sometimes, when nothing and everything washed over her in some overwhelming burst of sensations, she’d see thick braids, smooth long hair, ribbons flashing between purple and red and eldritch wings overlapping from the corners of her vision. And if she listened hard enough…Madoka would hear the layered whispers of some creature.

Every time she was caught staring (which was always), Madoka was met with a gentle smile and her vision corrected. From behind, Madoka would feel Sayaka’s scowl boring into both their backs. She never understood why Sayaka disliked-perhaps even hated-Homura so much.

* * *

Her hand twitched at her side, wanting to reach out to that girl, who was slowly getting further and further away. She wanted to run, to catch up to her. But her limbs were shattered, not whole and heavy. (She was human again) 

Still, if she tried, she probably could. But–

She wasn’t brave enough to do that. 

(She wasn’t brave enough to let this pleasant dream end)

* * *

Madoka awakens with tears streaming down her face and a shifting kaleidoscope of pink and gold in her eyes.

She closes her eyes and falls asleep again.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I like character studies a little too much. Oh, and I listened to Kikuo's 産声 / First Cry in order to get a feel for the tone. It's a surprisingly catchy song.


End file.
